


You’re my Everyday

by goodemornting



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race UK RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Lesbian AU, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, its cute they’re cute this is so cute, listen this is so tender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 03:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30015588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodemornting/pseuds/goodemornting
Summary: The bass from the song they’re listening to rips through the bathroom - A’whora is confident it’s a Brockhampton song - Tayce’s music taste is eclectic, but A’whora’s beginning to familiarize herself with it. The song is alive and powerful and warm.In Tayce’s shitty apartment bathroom, A’whora feels the same.
Relationships: A'Whora/Tayce (Drag Race)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	You’re my Everyday

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve watched literally two episodes of this season but taywhora worked for me so here’s this :) Unbetad but I promise I edited good
> 
> Title from Good To Me by SVT !!

“You sure about this?” Tayce asks, setting down her lighter and wafting incense smoke around the room. “If you wanna stop now, we can, y’know.”

The bass from the song they’re listening to rips through the bathroom — A’whora is confident it’s a Brockhampton song — Tayce’s music taste is eclectic, but A’whora’s beginning to familiarize herself with it. The song is alive and powerful and warm; in Tayce’s shitty apartment bathroom, A’whora feels the same.

“I’m sure,” A’whora’s excitement is barely contained, bouncing a little on the seat, catching Tayce’s smile in the mirror she’s holding. 

The shaver buzzes to life and with confidence that comes from hundreds of self-administered haircuts, Tayce takes it to A’whora’s neat braid. A’whora gasps when her hair is sheared off with one quick move, suddenly shorter strands tickling the back of her neck. Tayce clicks it off and sets it aside, tongue caught between her teeth as she goes in with scissors, snipping off bits of A’whora’s hair and neatening it. Every strand that falls over A’whora’s shoulders takes a metaphorical weight off of her.

“What do you think?” Tayce hums. “We don’t have to bleach it today if you don’t want to.”

“Nah,” A’whora trips over the word. “I want to.”

Tayce works quickly and quietly, singing along with the music, snapping gloves on, sectioning A’whora’s hair, combing bleach into them with her fingers. The quiet doesn’t bother them — it’s easy for A’whora to be with Tayce, breathe with Tayce — Tayce, there is no need for pretense. There is only giving oneself over and A’whora trusts her with that.

Here’s how it happens: A’whora is the youngest of two, with an older sister. Her family dotes on her, loves her, cocoons her and if she’s being completely honest, her behaviour merits that. A’whora can be an airhead. Naive, prone to following her gut instinct more often than not, experiences life through its passions. Picks one thing to dedicate herself to with heart and heart alone, sticking through with it even if it breaks her heart. In all of that, there is something that always feels off, as if A’whora has been calibrated differently, and it’s most obvious in middle school. Her friends all have boyfriends and while she herself gets a fair number of confessions, she turns all of them down and chooses, instead, to braid her friends' hair. It becomes a game of humming appropriately and barely paying any attention when the conversation ultimately shifts to romance. 

Here’s how it happened: A’whora was gay, and coming to terms with it. 

Tayce wasn’t the first person to reach out, that would be Bimini. A’whora thinks in another world, she would be in love with Bimini. It’s hard _not_ to be in love with Bimini, fiercely protective and spontaneous. They’re like a lighthouse; no matter how far A’whora gets from the harbor, there’s a light to guide her home. What this means is the first time Bimini takes her to a gay club and A’whora sees a world full of people who finally speak a language she knows, covered in too much glitter and belting out underground rock music, it’s Bimini’s hair fluttering on her skin, Bimini’s hands reaching out when A’whora gets pulled out by the wave. It’s at that gay club that A’whora talks to Tayce properly, as she watches with quiet hunger as Tayce licks salts off her fingers and downs tequila.

When Tayce and A’whora start talking, they click together. 

Conversation flows between A’whora and Tayce like a fountain, bubbling consistently, never running dry and their friendship quickly evolves from sending each other memes and animal pictures to attending musicals and record diving. A’whora doesn’t think much about the fact that she’s attached to Tayce at first, until  
Bimini calls Tayce her girlfriend and she feels like she missed a step somewhere. 

“Are we girlfriends?” A’whora had asked right after midterms, sprawled on the floor of Tayce’s single while watching her work on an assignment. The rug she’d been lying on was one they’d thrifted together, a shaggy mass of scratchy black wool.

Tayce’s head jerked up, face open, equal parts apprehension and sincerity. “If that’s what you wanna be.”

A’whora had agreed almost immediately and the smile that spread across Tayce’s face could rival the setting sun, bright and infectious, absent of a veneer. Not much changed after — except kissing, so much kissing. A’whora leaves Tayce’s dorm with a tender mouth sometimes. Bimini is unsurprised by the development. 

Here’s how it happens: Tayce and A’whora settle into rituals like they’ve known each other their whole lives. Rituals that now include Tayce cutting and bleaching her hair because A’whora has been on the verge of doing something drastic since the semester began. When Tayce finally rinses the bleach out, A’whora stares back at her orange bob. 

“It’s so _ugly_.” A’whora guffaws. Tayce throws her head back laughing, her hands running through the edges of A’whora’s damp hair. 

“It’ll be fine when we color it tomorrow,” Tayce insists. “And I think you look cute.”

A’whora pinks in delight. Tayce keeps running her hands across the damp skin of A’whora’s back that’s exposed by her tank top, with barely concealed intent. The thing about Tayce is her scrutiny can be intense, a dedication to learning A’whora in and out. When one of A’whora’s exhales escapes in a low whine because Tayce’s fingers brush against a sensitive spot in her neck, Tayce’s eyes darken, repeating the motion until A’whora’s knuckles are white around the edges of the sink. 

“You look like a ginger cat,” Tayce says out of the blue.

The tension dissipates as fast as it was created, Tayce laughing as A’whora tries to whip her with the hand towel. In the mirror, a picture of intimacy: straying hands, damp curls, a smile tucked against A’whora’s neck. A’whora is a little disappointed — Kissing isn’t sex — she wants Tayce in ways she doesn’t quite have the words for yet. To learn a language is to immerse yourself in it, and A’whora’s only waist deep in her understanding of Tayce. 

It’s only later at night when her hair is a dried tangle, A’whora tucked against Tayce in the narrow single, that she finds her voice, easier outside the moment. 

“Tay,” A’whora begins, quiet. Between the moonlight and lamplight, Tayce glows, hair a river of dark black, the wet plush of her mouth an inviting gold. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Tayce exhales in a rush and A’whora begins to panic — she’s only ever done this with Bimini, shy and unsure, and a handful of girls in clubs with mouths tasting like vodka, menthols and orange juice. Tayce is nothing like any of them. She’s confident and assured, knows what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth, as reliable as the rising and setting of the sun. A’whora, on the other hand, is volatile and insecure at times, runs her mouth given an opportunity, unpredictable like a cyclone, just as likely to sob as she is to laugh.

"Sure," Tayce breathes out, biting her lip. 

Tayce leans in before A’whora can chicken out, mouth soft and searching, gentle. It feels like kindling catching fire, A’whora pressing in closer eagerly, sighing into Tayce’s mouth. Against her, Tayce laughs, one hand on A’whora's waist, the two of them lined up chest to thigh. It's comfortable and easy until Tayce sucks on A’whora's lower lip, Tayce’s nails against her skin and A’whora moans, shattering the quiet of the night. There’s satisfied sighs when they’re kissing, but this is a new sound, unfamiliar territory. A’whora pulls away, the back of her neck hot, and Tayce is staring at her with wide eyes, parted mouth, her hands flexing where they were touching A’whora moments ago.

"I'm sorry, I, um — my ex used to joke that it was too easy to get me going. I can just go back to my dorm, or Bim’s or we don’t have to, like, do anything else."

"It's alright, stupid,” Tayce's voice is surprisingly hoarse. "I want what you want, ‘Rora,” 

It’s enough encouragement for A’whora, exhaling in a shivery whisper. She yelps when Tayce grins and easily drags her on top of her, grin wide and easy. A’whora has imagined the possibilities, but reality is better; Tayce’s beauty has always been otherworldly, bone structure carved by a master artist. The newness of the position has A’whora ducking her head in embarrassment, hiding in the crook of Tayce's neck to avoid the heat in her eyes, the way she looks up at A’whora like she has all the answers.

"Didn't think you'd be so shy,” Tayce teases, one hand running under A’whora's shirt.

A’whora gasps against the skin of Tayce's throat, pressing in closer. It's hard to deny the instinct to rut against Tayce's body but it's not quite the right position, not quite where A’whora wants Tayce.

"Can we— not like this, bitch," A’whora finally stutters out.

Her breath is punched out of her when Tayce flips them over and it's even more awful to be under Tayce. They have similar builds but where A’whora is smaller, Tayce is broader, the wisps of her hair curling down her neck, hanging in her eyes, the V of her collar dipping, the electric purple of her sports bra visible. A’whora is suddenly hungry, frantic with it, wants oh-so-badly to put her mouth all over her girlfriend.

"Kiss me," A’whora demands, and Tayce surges in, the tide answering to the shore, sucking A’whora's lower lip between her mouth. When she shifts above A’whora, she brings a thigh between A’whora's legs and A’whora gasps into the kiss, finally giving in to base desire.

The way Tayce stares down at her when A’whora starts grinding against her thigh has her flushing but the encouraging grip she has on A’whora’s waist is enough to keep her going, Tayce’s eyes infinitely darker than they were in the bathroom hours ago. 

“You look so stunning, Rory,” Tayce breathes out, eyes trained on the sliver of A’whora’s abdomen where her tank has ridden up, pushing it even higher and over her tits. 

A’whora is torn between being happy that she’d skipped a bra and conscious of the way Tayce is watching her. On her best days, Tayce is anchored like a banyan tree, roots to a home, her attention unwavering; the effect is devastating in the context of sex. Tayce is watching her, but also looking through her, taking in her fill by sight alone. Tayce watches A’whora palm her tits intently, encouraging the grind of A’whora’s hips against her thigh, the attention making A’whora wet. Tayce licks into her mouth wet and filthy, hot palms cupping A’whora’s tits, thumbs circling A’whora’s nipples, smile growing with every aborted moan A’whora makes. When Tayce finally pulls away to breathe, she peels her shirt off, encouraging A’whora to do the same. 

“What do you like?” Tayce asks, patiently rubbing circles into the skin of A’whora’s stomach even as A’whora’s hips kick up. 

“Fuck, um. Oral, or, like, when it’s wet and messy.” 

Having to admit it is worth Tayce’s low groan, A’whora’s voice cracking on a moan when Tayce palms her tits, Tayce sucking a hickey onto her right breast. A’whora’s hips cant up every time Tayce’s teeth graze her skin, a high whimper escaping when Tayce goes from sucking a hickey to sucking on a nipple, A’whora fisting a hand in her hair. Tayce sees through A’whora fast — up on how much she likes teeth — a ring over A’whora’s left hip as Tayce kisses her way down. Between Tayce’s firm hands and gentle kisses and sharp teeth, it’s a lot to take in; A’whora is wet in her sleep shorts, electrified with pleasure. 

Tayce presses a wet kiss to the plane of A’whora's tummy, eyes alight, dragging her tongue along A’whora's skin until it meets the waistband of her sleep shorts. There's something about the quiet confidence in Tayce's actions that has A’whora on the edge of desperate, so far from anything A’whora has experienced before. Bimini certainly hadn’t gone down on her with this kind of intensity — Tayce puts 200 into everything she does and if she puts 200 into eating pussy as well, A’whora might pass out when she comes. The idea is enough to have her dizzy, as it stands.

"You're quieter than I thought you would be," Tayce murmurs, peering up at A’whora through her lashes. She looks fucking incredible and when A’whora cants her hips up, Tayce holds her down easily with a laugh.

It's not mean — A’whora has seen Tayce being _mean_ — but it's amused. It's a sound full of confidence and promise.

"Please." A’whora doesn't know what she's asking for.

“Only if you stop holding yourself back,” Tayce says, holding up her pinky to A’whora. 

A’whora laughs, linking her pinkie with Tayce’s and nodding, her laugh turning into a sharp gasp when Tayce cups her pussy through her shorts, A’whora rutting up into the pressure. If there was a question that she was wet before, it’s answered now; A’whora is made acutely aware of how soaked she is in her underwear.

Tayce hums like she’s about to say something and A’whora’s eyes flutter shut, flush spreading further across her skin. Whatever it is she’s about to say, A’whora is in no way ready for it. Tayce seems to recognize that, pressing another kiss to A’whora’s stomach before tugging her shorts off her legs instead.

As A’whora continues to learn, Tayce doesn’t stop teasing which is a problem. She doesn’t peel off A’whora’s panties with her shorts, lazily licking against the wet spot on them, one hand tight on A’whora’s thigh to hold her open. A’whora tries her best but the angle is all wrong to cant against Tayce’s mouth and all she can really do is lay there and take it. Her awareness is condensed to the heat of Tayce’s tongue against her pussy and her jumbled moans of _please_ and _fuck_ and _oh my God_. A’whora whines when Tayce pulls away to suck a mark into the inside of her thigh, absentmindedly pressing against the tender spot when she’s done.

“Tay, Tayce, please, please eat me out,” A’whora pants out. She can feel where the sheets stick to her sweat-slick skin and is convinced between how wet she is and Tayce’s saliva, she’s made a mess of the sheets too. 

Tayce’s smile is gentle, her hands are reassuring as she peels off A’whora’s panties. Tayce’s eyes are even darker if possible, hungry where they’re trained on where A’whora is wet and flushed, curls plastered against her skin, her folds heavy with how much she wants. Between Tayce being half-dressed and A’whora being naked, unable to close her legs because Tayce’s between them, A’whora feels another rush of wetness, wanting everything Tayce is promising with her gaze. 

“Tay, please, I just wanna feel good.” 

The whimpered please does something to Tayce, makes her groan low and hunker down, winding her arms around A’whora’s thighs, holding her spread open. A’whora thinks she screams at the first sweep of Tayce’s tongue between her folds, a hand flying down to twist itself in Tayce’s hair and another twisting in the sheets to anchor herself. She jerks up into it as Tayce keeps up a steady rhythm, broad strokes of her tongue and targeted circles around A’whora’s clit every time she comes up. Tayce keeps at the pace, dipping her tongue into A’whora’s entrances occasionally. It’s unsatisfying and makes A’whora hyperaware of how empty she feels, how she wants so badly to clench around Tayce’s fingers. 

“Tay, want more,” A’whora pants out, hand carding through Tayce’s hair gently, at odds with the way she’s trying to fuck against Tayce’s mouth. 

Tayce pulls away after one last sweep with her tongue, grinning up at A’whora as she releases one thigh to bring her thumb to A’whora’s clit, rubbing circles lazily. A’whora yelps, thighs closing around Tayce’s hand.

“I didn’t think you’d be like this,” Tayce gummy smiles and despite how much A’whora wants to come, it’s reassuring knowing that this is Tayce, after all, patient and loving in equal measure, never half-asses anything. “You’re so fucking sexy, look at how wet you are for me.”

A’whora doesn’t get a chance to respond before Tayce spreads her open even further with two fingers, dipping her tongue into A’whora properly, fucking it in a short burst. It’s even more of a surprise when Tayce pushes two fingers into her, barely any resistance with how wet A’whora is. She feels like her breath has been punched out, back flat against the mattress, head tipped back. Her hand goes too tight in Tayce’s hair, the groan she makes against A’whora’s thigh muffled as she bites down on the meat of it. 

Tayce doesn’t immediately get to fucking her, simply moving her fingers in firm circles against the front of A’whora’s walls; A’whora gets even wetter with the movement, Tayce’s fingers squelching obscenely. Tayce continues like that, occasionally using her thumb to circle A’whora’s clit as well, one hand holding her thigh down. It’s ridiculous how fast it pushes A’whora to the edge, almost sobbing, how badly it makes A’whora want to ride Tayce’s fingers until she comes once, twice, three times, crying with it.

“I’m so close, fuck,” A’whora pants out.

The words act like a match to fuel; Tayce sets a punishing rhythm immediately, fucking A’whora with purpose. A’whora feels overwhelmed with it, reaching towards Tayce with her other hand, sighing when Tayce lets go of her thigh to intertwine their fingers, resting on A’whora’s tummy. A’whora can’t quite describe it; the touch is both sexy and reassuring. Except Tayce scissors her fingers, dips her tongue between them and A’whora cries out, squeezes Tayce’s hand in her grip. It’s hard to think about anything else besides the way Tayce fucks her steadily, laving at her clit, the room filled with A’whora’s whines and the wet sounds of Tayce fingering her.

“I can’t wait to fuck you with my strap,” Tayce says — confesses, really — there’s something aching and honest about how she says it, tonguing at A’whora’s clit right after. 

It’s enough to make A’whora come with a low whine, hips undulating against Tayce’s mouth and fingers, Tayce insistently working her through her orgasm. It’s almost overwhelming; Tayce is intense, refusing to let up despite A’whora feeling like she’s had lightning scour through her. Tayce doesn’t stop at one, however, she works A’whora through the aftershocks and into another before A’whora can consciously register it. She coaxes a second orgasm from her with lips suctioned around A’whora’s clit and a third finger in her pussy. A’whora gasps when her second orgasm slams into her with the weight of a sledgehammer, radiating tenderness throughout her body, Tayce guiding her through it. Tayce pulls away when A’whora whimpers, smiling wide and the way the light catches the shine of her face has A’whora hot and bothered again, desire turning over. That’s her on Tayce’s face.

“Did you—,” A’whora begins. “Can I… I want to do that for you too.”

Tayce crawls up next to her and A’whora doesn’t fight the urge to close the space between them, overheating where Tayce is cool, licking the taste of herself off Tayce’s cheeks, her chin, kissing her. Tayce’s amused by it, kisses back with enthusiasm.

“Do you not care where my mouth was, slag?” Tayce asks, waggling her eyebrows.

A’whora is beyond shame at this point. “I know what I do to myself. Now can I do the same?”

Tayce hums, still grinning. Her thumb is drawing circles on A’whora’s skin, comforting in a way that might lull her to sleep. 

“It’s alright, Rora,” Tayce swallows, eyes dragging over A’whora’s body. “Besides, I kind of wanna fuck you in the morning. Wanna see how pretty you look then too.”

“Hound,” A’whora’s ears burn, playfully hitting Tayce’s shoulder and grinning when Tayce catches her by the wrist, pressing a kiss against her palm. “I need to recover.”

“You’re nineteen, not ninety-one,” Tayce laughs. “I’m sure you’ll be recovered by _tomorrow_ , Jesus.”

“And if I’m _not_ recovered tomorrow?” A’whora hedges. 

“You’re underestimating how much I want to ride your thighs,” Tayce licks her lips, leaning in close to brush their noses together. 

“Is that a promise?” A’whora murmurs. 

Tayce nods, kissing her again, licking into A’whora’s mouth like they have all the time in the world. And in a manner of speaking, they do: Tayce lends her a pair of boxer shorts all while teasing her about the mess she made. When they fall asleep, Tayce is tucked against her chest, A’whora’s nose to the nape of her neck. A’whora has all the time in the world to learn Tayce’s language, immerse herself in the surety of Tayce’s smile and hands.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’d like to scream at me, my tumblr is @goodemornting :) <3


End file.
